


Steve's Diary

by cablesscutie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cablesscutie/pseuds/cablesscutie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine Steve keeping very detailed and personal journals throughout his life. Someone comes across these journals and discovers just how good Steve is at hiding his depression/PTSD. Cue Steve/anyone confrontation and platonic comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve's Diary

After Steve was thawed out of the ice, Pepper Potts took it upon herself to retrieve some of his personal effects from where the Smithsonian had been keeping them in storage. She had been good friends with the curator for years, so when she called up asking after Captain America’s belongings, he told her she was more than welcome to collect his things. The only items on display in the museum were of little sentimental value. Most of what he’d left in the Brooklyn apartment had been boxed up by the SSR, and donated by Peggy Carter when she moved on to establish S.H.I.E.L.D. The exhibit mainly consisted of wartime relics: propaganda posters and mission reports from Steve’s days with the Howling Commandos, and Steve had made it abundantly clear that none of that was important to him. 

“Here we are,” the assistant curator chirped, setting a dusty filing box on the table in front of Pepper. “I guess there wasn’t much to the place besides the furniture,” she admitted apologetically.

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled either way.”

“Well, we’re happy to have been able to hold onto these for him.” 

Pepper gave her a wry smile. “A bit different from a museum’s usual mission, isn’t it?”

“Returning the artifacts wasn’t covered in my graduate program, no,” she laughed. When the lid was lifted, it was clear nothing had been disturbed for quite some time. No dust had gotten inside, and the tags denoting each item were yellowed, with elegant, faded handwriting. Pepper imagined that they were old enough to have been written by Carter herself. “Let’s see.” The assistant curator carefully pulled a string of painted wooden beads from the box, letting them pool in the palm of her other hand. “Mrs. Rogers’ rosary,” she read from the tag. “Recovered from Captain Rogers’ rucksack.”

“Oh, he’ll definitely want that,” Pepper told her, and the woman placed it gently in the new box she’d brought over to send back to the tower.

“Aaand…there’s some recipe cards, his parents’ wedding rings, a copy of the Hobbit…”

“Yes to all of them.”

“Alright. Some sketchbooks?” Pepper’s eyebrows were the only thing that gave away her surprise. She hadn’t know Steve was an artist. He’d certainly never drawn anything when anybody else was around to see.

“Yes. Please.” Pepper took one of the offered notebooks and out of curiosity, opened it to a random page. In the corner was a quick sketch of a woman with smile lines by her eyes and a familiar shape to her mouth. Below that, he’d written “I wish she’d stayed like that forever.”

The next page was one of Bucky, in dirty work clothes with stooped shoulders. “He says I ain’t a burden, but he’s carrying me anyway.” Each sketch was dated and accompanied by what must’ve been the thought that prompted the drawing to begin with. It wasn’t a sketchbook; it was a journal. She flipped through a few more pages, before placing the book in the carton and picking up the next one. It was clearly from the war, and as she got closer to the back of the book, the more she felt like she was no longer looking at observations, but depictions of a nightmare. She closed the journal. All of the others were packed up without being opened.

The next day, she left her hotel near the museum and headed to Steve’s apartment in D.C. He was obviously surprised to see her, but smiled warmly anyway and took the box from her, offering a cup of coffee.

“So, what brings you to Washington, Miss Potts?” he asked.

“Oh, you sound like JARVIS. My name is Pepper,” she told him. “And I’m actually here to see you.”

“Oh?” She could hear the wariness seep into his voice, hiding under the hospitality.

“Yes. But just you, Steve. The suit stays on the hanger, I promise. I hope you don’t mind, but I have a friend at the Smithsonian, and I asked her for some of your stuff.” Pepper patted the box on the table beside her.

“My stuff?”

“Some of the personal effects that Agent Carter had in SSR storage. From your old apartment.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Thank you. You didn’t have to, really.”

“It was the least I could do. I know this hasn’t been easy.” She took a breath, steeling herself, and hoping she wasn’t about to ruin what trust he had in her. “And I owe you an apology. I…When we were sorting through your things, I came across some sketchbooks. Or, at least, what I thought were sketchbooks, but they, um, looked privates so, I’m sorry for looking at them. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.” He looked at her in surprise, and he was younger than her, she realized. Captain America looked no older than the graduate students she worked with at Stark Industries, but she felt like she was about to receive a lecture from the principal for being so rude. Instead, he said,

“It’s okay. I haven’t had much in the way of privacy for a while now. Gotten used to it. But you’re the first person who’s at least had the decency to be sorry.” Pepper heaved a relieved sigh, and then figured she might as well go for broke. If he didn’t like her for it, at least she wouldn’t have to leave him looking so sad, knowing that she could’ve done more.

“Permission to completely overstep my bounds?” Steve bit his lip, eyebrows scrunching together just the slightest bit, but eventually nodded and said,

“Permission granted.”

“I know,” she began, “that in your memory, psychologists were scary, and usually led to asylums, and there was a lot of shame surrounding them. Up until very recently, people avoided them, but it’s different now. You have to be sick of hearing that, but I promise this one’s true. People go to therapy now when they’re going through rough times, or having trouble adjusting…A lot of soldiers go. After they get back from the war. I think you would benefit from seeing someone. I know I did. When Tony…well, he was captured…for a long time. And it was difficult, even after he came back, so I started going to therapy. It helped life seem more manageable.” `

Steve was quiet for a moment, staring at his huge hands wrapped around the steaming mug. She could only see the top of his head, but didn’t miss the slight nod that followed. His hands tightened around the ceramic, and she reached out to lay one of hers on his wrist, giving a gentle squeeze before the cup could shatter. He looked up at her with watery eyes, but forced some measure of composure into his voice to say,

“Thank you.”


End file.
